Void
by 1Past and Present1
Summary: In the cold of Blaze's absence, Silver seems to seek closure. [Sequel to Abyss.]


The sequel to _Abyss_.

If you like the ambiguity and begrudging optimism as depicted in _Abyss_, I advise that you stay away from _Void_, which has been uploaded separately because I like the 10 chapter benchmark and because I fear the conclusion of the overall story might piss a few readers off. In my defence, the narrative was never about the investigation and heroes are not meant to be perfect, nor should they always remain heroic.

Thank you for your support.

* * *

"I love her. As a friend, and... more, I guess."

Silver looks up from his lukewarm, slightly less than virgin bottle of beer, brows as heavy as the crystalline blue of Rouge's eyes, dulled by grief and hardened with stress.

"I never said that to her. Not with words. Or maybe I did." A husky chuckle, without humour, suddenly stops. "'I love you.' Ah. Did I ever tell her that? I can't… remember. Isn't that fucked up and strange? They're only, like, the most meaningful words we have."

The hedgehog knows the bat isn't looking back at him, rather her gaze is elsewhere, a little aside.

"But I stare at this damned empty space she's left behind, and…"

As Rouge hesitates, Silver turns to look at the empty barstool, the source of her scorn and heartache.

"And…"

He's sighing his distress, his disappointment, his disgust.

"I know I did try. Little gestures. And gifts."

"It's not your fault."

"You're probably right, hon. Still. I'm not so sure she knew that, then. That I love her, I mean."

"Yeah."

"Try not to be too angry."

The hedgehog sniffles and the bat smiles softly at him, or at least, vaguely toward him. Her gaze is still on the empty seat.

"I'm angry, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Shit. Part of me wishes she didn't know. Because if I imagine that she knew, then I ought to ask myself, how could she do this to me?"

"I wasn't good enough."

"Oh, honey."

"I was never good enough."

"I think she felt the same."

"That pedestal. I never meant..."

"Never mind that. It's done, now."

"I just... I can't..."

"You'll be fine. It's gonna be okay."

"Yeah. Y-yeah, okay."

"It's corny, but think of it this way." A large, feminine hand touches a slender, masculine wrist. "You'll always carry some shard of her with you, wherever you go, like a tiny stone or some gum stuck in the tread of your boot."

"That's oddly beautiful."

"And you can rest assured, honey. She loved you, in her own way, even if she never said it. Even if you can't remember the words."

If he allows himself to think too hard about it, he'll struggle to breathe like he did last night and the night before, faced with almost an urge to suffocate through the painful tightness that threatens to once again set in his throat, like a fist rising from his gut to choke him from the inside. But this is a social setting and he tries to keep it down, tries not to let those fingers curl in on themselves.

"It'll get better." Rouge retreats after a quick squeeze, leaving cold behind and phantom pressure. "It may feel like forever, for a while, but someday."

"Y-yeah."

"You have to keep going, though. You'll do that, won't you? Nothing crazy."

"She'd want that. Me, acting s-sane, day after day." Silver says nothing, for several seconds, struggling to take in air and let it out again. Then murmurs, "She was afraid of people, you see."

"In a way."

"But she never liked to think about monsters in our skin." His suit prickles, a peculiar sensation for a hedgehog, like he's sweating too much. He yanks on his tie, pulling it looser. "N-never wanted to, but she was afraid."

"Even if there were times she made you feel bothersome or tolerated. That was just her way of protecting herself from… something. Heartbreak, probably. Maybe some other terrible disappointment. Her flames, too. Called it her curse, and though I was wary, I always thought that was cruel."

Someone in the bar coughs.

The bat readjusts her shapely weight, biting her shapely lip, and the hedgehog remains rigid and fidgeting upon his perch.

"I'm considering closing up shop for good. Doesn't feel right, without her."

He nods distantly when perhaps he should shake his head.

"But if you'll pay me a visit from time to time, then… I'll have an excuse to stay open. At least, for a bit. So…"

He recognises this as a veiled plea for something. Forced into his ears.

"Please, feel free, honey, alright?" Rouge manages in a broken undertone. "Visit me from time to time. I'd appreciate it."

"She's n-not coming back."

"Silver, I..."

He can only nod again.

Gripped with an emotional impulse of rare intensity, the bat impatiently brushes her own tears away, twisting around so that only Shadow – still in the background, endlessly polishing the same glass despite its gleam – is privy to her pain.

* * *

A bundle of evidence was prepared along with a story, articulate and embroidered, detailing an overall substantiated yet questionable romance.

Silver is surprised by how many photographs there are. More than that, he's surprised by the emotion he can see. Sadness, despite the smile. How a woman could smile, tolerating having her picture taken by an enthusiastic lover with a penchant for intrusion, whilst appearing so sad. Some of the photographs are quite inappropriate, besides.

"My kitty was a beautiful subject."

"Mmhm."

Amy Rose is a busy woman deeply in love with her life and, more so, the primary male influence within it. It wasn't easy to convince her to part from Sonic and other, lesser distractions for a day, but here she sits, barely having touched her fruity beverage, smiling at the telekinetic hedgehog in a way that is kindly but also vaguely patronising.

It takes Silver a while to notice that Amy is trying to get him to look back at her. He politely obliges, trying to professionally clear his throat. "Thank you for this, Miss Rose. I apologise for the trouble."

"Nonsense! Just call me Amy, sweetie. After all the help you've been, how could I say no?"

"Amy. Right. Thank you, Amy."

"Honestly! You're quite welcome, sweetie."

"Call me Silver. Um. Please."

Green eyes patiently and inquisitively trace the fatigue in gold, unearthing things meant to stay hidden. It's unnerving.

"Um…"

"I'm not sure this journey you're on is good for you, Silver."

"Journey?"

"You want closure."

"Well, I suppose so."

"But I sense that it isn't just so you can have a more complete picture of her inside your heart. I sense there's something else."

"Something... else?"

"Something that troubles me. Something sharp and bitter and angry."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You will. It's something that's already in you, but it will strike someone you'll find only after now, someone undeserving of it, maybe."

"Oh, really?"

"I think so."

The photographs are spread over the table. There are also handwritten letters, some stained with lipstick and coffee rings. An odour of perfume, paper and cigarettes fills the space between them, beneath the cloying, fatty residue of frying food.

"And once it's happened, it will be a letdown."

"Is this your clairvoyance speaking?"

"Mock me if you want, sweetie, but you've been warned!"

"Silver." Hands angrily sweep up the evidence, piling it all together crudely before shoving it into the brown paper package, tied together in ominously chosen red string. "And I doubt very much that you do have such powers, considering how I've betrayed her trust, with you."

"You won't win her spirit any peace with revenge." The gorgeous pink hedgehog leans a little closer, causing her companion to shrink equally away, her lip curling with pretty satisfaction. "Since you don't believe in an afterlife, you're doing this basically for yourself."

"What?"

"You'll understand, later."

* * *

In Silver's hand he holds a very different photograph, small and creased, something he wasn't sure he'd be permitted to keep. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over two faces whilst he stares out the window at the world beneath him, his sneer reflected back.

A different world, entirely.

* * *

"Hiya!"

Silver's breath is caught in his throat, caught by the inward fist.

"Wasn't expecting a guest! Sorry about my, well, everything! I'm a mess!"

His shoulders slump.

Before him is the lemur from that one photograph, a heartbreaker whose qualities other lovers could only suggest. She is the woman who left his mentor so devastated. And she is currently attempting to brush flour from her flat stomach whilst grinning charmingly at the bemused hedgehog, lacking majesty and grace, her attractiveness a crude, endearing thing.

He feels like he has been cruelly overlooked for a far inferior work of art and it's a sickening feeling that makes him groan, teetering a bit. This is her?

"Sir?"

He groans again. This is it?

Her expression, animated and youthful, turns from friendly concern to sincere worry. "You don't look so good."

"Ungh."

"You should sit down. Here." Athletic and tall, she grows serious, just then, and doesn't hesitate further in her desire to help. It's adorably intimidating. "Hey, now. Listen to my voice and stay calm, okay?"

He allows her to reach for him, strong and calloused hands easily gripping his upper forearms, preventing him from tipping further, as he had been tenuously swaying back and forth, lightheaded but aware.

"Easy, there. Easy, now. I've got you."

He tries not to swoon, feeling sickly and stupid as she effortlessly pulls him inside like a fish trapped in the tendrils of an anemone.

"You're okay, sir. You're gonna be just fine."

He watches, astounded further, as her tail moves as if it were a boneless arm, twisting and stretching to reach past them, tufts of fur grasping the doorknob in their wake, even as they move away. He tries to turn his head to see more but it's dizzying.

"I'll get you a glass of cold water. You're probably feeling the heat. Don't worry, okay? It happens."

He is suddenly sprawled out on the couch and then she vanishes for a while, abandoning him to his apparent death, and he's ready to die except she comes back with a tall glass and he is cradled within one strong arm – actually, it's that freakish, damned tail again – whilst she brushes his quills aside and gently pours water down his tight throat, unintentionally choking him, but he recovers after some tries and finds the cool quite refreshing once he is able to breathe.

"Shh. It's okay. You're okay. I've got you. Okay? Easy, sir. Okay. That's it, down the hatch, nice and easy."

He composes himself after some time, reaching dazedly back to ponder the thick fur of her tail, concealing the muscular limb, whilst gazing up at her, pondering with his eyes, too.

Her bosom is stained with what looks like some sort of batter, ruining a rather nice shirt, partially unbuttoned to bare fluff. She's saying things, but they're unimportant, meant only to console him and aid his recovery as she considers calling for an ambulance.

"M'fine."

"Sir?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Almost had a tumble, back there."

He groans and slowly sits up straight, assisted by her tail, forming a large hand between the spines of his back.

"Finish it," she says, nudging him gently with the glass. "It'll help."

After another groan, he weakly obeys to appease her.

She remains crouched beside him all the while, until there remain mere dregs of water at the bottom.

He is thankful, but it was a very tall glass and his stomach feels like an ocean.

She allows him to grip the glass against himself rather than handing it over and taking it away, her gaze taking in his rumpled suit with soft amusement. "No wonder you overheated, wearing that."

He stares at her with wide eyes, even when her attention snaps upward to meet. It's like the glass is the thing he clings to because it is recognisable to him, whereas she is an alien.

"You feeling any better, sir?"

"You… You're her."

"Her?"

"In the photograph."

"Um."

"In her wallet. In the photograph. She kept you in her wallet, in the photograph."

"Oh-kay."

"You're the lemur. The woman. She knew you."

"Who's this 'she'? I've known a few."

"Blaze!"

Amethyst eyes, dark and almost eerie without intending to be, alight with recognition.

"Blaze," the strange man repeats, gasping faintly. "I knew her and she knew you!"

The lemur doesn't seem to know how to respond to the odd hedgehog or his ramblings, but flooding memories of a cat take over, provoking a smile that is so intense, none of this is surreal, anymore.

"I'm here to... to..."

"How is she?!"

"I came to..."

"Is she still a detective?!"

"You're Tangle."

"Right! That's me! Is Blaze here?! I mean, did she come, too?!"

"I'm Silver. I knew her."

"Silver," the lemur says, seemingly realising that she is being too loud, calming herself. "My bad. Where are my manners, huh? Good to meet ya, Silver."

"I came to talk to you about Blaze."

"Awesome! Where is she?"

"She... She's..."

"Silver, champ, I know you're feeling a little wonky, right now, but it'd mean a lot to me if you could gimme a summary or even a hint, if not the whole thing. If you need a minute, that's okay, too."

"No, no. I'm Silver."

"Yes, and I'm Tangle."

"Blaze was my partner."

"Partner?"

"We were both detectives."

"Oh, wow! That's so cool!"

"I'm Silver," he repeats, like he isn't quite convinced. "And the Detective was Blaze. Blaze was the Detective, my partner. She mentored me. The Detective."

"Sweet! Though, uh..." A playful nudge, slightly impatient. "What's up with the past tense, though, my man?"

"Past. Present."

"Did you guys retire? Is she finally living it out on a sunny beach, somewhere tropical, surrounded by gorgeous babes in bikinis?"

The hedgehog almost smiles, then offers the lemur his hand.

Confused, she gently accepts it with her actual hand and not her tail, which is a relief.

"I don't like hospitals."

"Uh?"

"They make me nervous. Please don't take me to one unless I'm obviously dying."

"Uh."

He's now limp on account of passing out, still embracing the glass, still holding her hand.

* * *

"How long was I out?"

"A few minutes."

"I see."

"So…"

"This must seem odd."

"A bit, yeah."

Silver is sober, now, and oddly calm. It's as if something happened inside whilst he perused the sunless pages of some ancient book, communing with its writhing tentacles and echoing gibberish.

"I've just put cupcakes in the oven if you wanna stick around and share them with me."

He almost smiles, again. "That's kind, considering."

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry. I'm still not making much sense."

"Nope."

"Don't be afraid. I'll try again."

"Oh," Tangle replies with some scoffing, "I'm not scared of you."

"You aren't?"

"You don't seem like a potential murderer to me. Not that I'm a detective. Heh."

"Detective… Right."

"How is Blaze, Silver?" Serious, the lemur touches the hedgehog's arm. "Where is she? Can I see her or talk to her?"

"That's why I'm here."

"I figured. So, please."

His eyes flicker and her frown tears down the middle.

"I've sent her letters. I've called. But she stopped answering."

"She withdrew. Pushed you away."

"It's not all her doing."

For a moment, two strangers seem to connect with each other by a common, red thread.

"I'll tell you everything. Or I'll tell you what I can and hope it's enough."

"I'm listening, Detective Silver."

"Just Silver, please." A gentle grimace. "Only one Detective. Only her."

"But you said... Okay. Silver."

"Thank you."

"How is she?"

"She's..."

Tangle earnestly expresses her anxiety and suspicion, her body stiffening with coiled excitement as she brings herself closer to Silver, almost as if to embrace him.

He moves suddenly to catch her wrists but in doing so, drops the glass.

Confused, she flinches.

It rolls out of his lap, off of the edge of the couch, between her knees and across the carpet.

Neither of them notices anything beyond the red thread.

She launches into a hastily worded, passionate monologue about moving away some time ago because of fire and love and hate and shame and pain. She speaks in hushed tones of violence and the lingering fear since then, that her reasons are misunderstood despite reassurances otherwise. She described eyes darting for phantoms jogging past her window. She mutters about the torment of urges to come back, juxtaposed against those reasons to stay away.

"Tangle," the hedgehog manages, having to speak over the lemur's tirade, "I have some news."

She is pulled out of what feels like water, but she could breathe, and she breathes now, but she is dry and warm, in his grip, suddenly silent. She then expresses her delight with a sigh, because even if it hasn't been all that long, it has felt like forever.

He keeps her grasping hands away from his crisp shirt, but she presses against him from behind, grinning into his grimace. "Tangle, she's gone."

"Silver," she says without uttering a sound.

"She's gone."

Lips, quivering with whatever goes unspoken.

Bright eyes, harsh. Gritted teeth.

"No."

The hedgehog releases the lemur's bony wrists, withdrawing from an inner pocket of his suit an envelope, sweaty, which contains proof that he has prepared. It's not too graphic. He left out some things, deeming them untasteful, unheroic, unbefitting of that toppled pedestal. Even now.

* * *

"Why come here and tell me? Why show me any of this?"

"I wanted a monster."

"What?"

"I think I want to blame you. I failed because of you. I wasn't good enough, nobody else was. Because of you. She was my heroine. I idolised her."

* * *

By the end, Tangle has run out of tears.

Silver waits a little longer.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"We're still kinda allies in heartbreak." Her voice has come back and it is weak, but steady. "I wanna hate you for this, but... better off knowing, maybe."

"How so?"

"I assumed she'd stopped replying out of anger."

The hedgehog sinks his fingernails into his knees and allows the lemur this embrace, this time.

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck you."

"You loved her, too."

But Silver has one last thing left to do, he decides, twisting in Tangle's arms to kiss her crooked, defeated brow.

"Do you really blame me?"

"Since you, she couldn't love anyone else."

The lemur clings to the hedgehog more fiercely.

"She had this in her wallet. I think she'd rather you keep it."

Tangle shifts a little as Silver moves. He's all that makes her feel safe, because without him, she'd be alone, living that distance she had reasons for, before, reasons which seem so paltry, now, when it was loneliness she'd tried to escape from in the first place with another as lonely as herself.

He fishes from his own wallet that particular photograph, different from the rest, and allows his rival this parting gift, placing it in her trembling hand.

She almost drops it, inhaling haggardly.

"There's you, see?"

"Yeah."

"And who's that next to you."

"Her."

"That's right. My Detective, your Blaze."

"She hated getting her picture taken."

"Hence why she's hiding partway behind you."

The lemur and the hedgehog share a sincere little laugh whilst the cat is smiling in a way that communicates happiness and sadness at once, the sadness that stayed no matter how hard she tried, a sadness that became too stifling to be around, too stifling to exist.

* * *

"She felt unlovable and unworthy of being loved."

"She was wrong."

"She felt monstrous. But she didn't like to use that word."

"I should've stayed."

"Why didn't you?"

* * *

Silver remains still and quiet from then on whilst Tangle cradles the picture to her heart. There was no need to come, to see, to speak, to ultimately satisfy his own lust for revenge by tearing down the rival – the devastating ex-girlfriend who dominated a scarred soul, who left a soul ruined. But it is done, now, and the strangest thing is that those words – words such as 'suicide' and 'treehouse,' the latter of which still perplexes him more than the former, because he isn't privy to such a thing's significance – don't hurt as much as he'd expected them to and he feels strangely content with the pain as it is, now. He needn't wound himself any deeper and he doesn't have to hate himself, anymore.

It will be enough to recall, in anger, the agony which flooded her eyes that first time, bared openly in a welling flash before they rolled away and dipped out of view due to her bowing her head and whimpering into his tie. Now, though, she keeps her head on his shoulder, because he remains quiet and still, eyes shutting momentarily to seal that agony away, otherwise locked up and trembling in her fluffy, lithe body. Flat faces are buried in her chest, beneath her hand, like that glass.

And stranger, still, is that this isn't as satisfying as he may have hoped it would be whilst sitting in his window seat on-board a plane, glaring upon the world beneath him, through his reflection's sneer. He kisses her brow another few times, too weak to make such things sting.

Eventually, they smell it. Burning cupcakes, forgotten in the oven.


End file.
